


Presidential Inauguration

by yasukematsuda



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Post-Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasukematsuda/pseuds/yasukematsuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plutarch Heavensbee had always been unbelievably articulate in ways a gamemaker would not have had to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presidential Inauguration

_You are a true wordsmith._

Haymitch was right. Plutarch Heavensbee had always been unbelievably articulate in ways a gamemaker would not have had to be. Words had never been a requirement for the job; creativity and a misfiring moral compass, perhaps, but Plutarch had surpassed the expectations of the Capitol in more ways than one, and even after all that had happened, his knack for words was still in tact.

Heavensbee made his way outside, dawning a long coat and scarf, head tilted down to keep the wind out of his eyes. He directed himself towards a wing of the Capitol that had once been used for indoor celebrations. It was small, the interior bared semblance to a chapel and was, more often than not, brightly decorated and splayed with foods and wines for the ceremonies held inside. _The ceremonies,_ Plutarch thought, _that were used as televised distractions for the people of Panem to focus on in place of their own suffering._ Morally, attending them could put one on edge once you considered the fact it was merely drawn out graft for the wealthy's loyalty. However, they were undeniably enjoyable, even with that knowledge lingering in the back of your mind.

He recalled, once explaining to President Coin that the Capitol’s most redeeming quality was their absurd level of care for their welcomed guests, how it was what really won over their non-political allies. She had then, in turn, explained that from his reliance on coffee and a hot breakfast, that much was obvious.

Thinking about it brought him a nostalgic smirk. It had only been a couple weeks since the assassination of Coin but the happenings in new Panem were already growing a bit tedious without her company. No matter how undemocratic and self-serving her reign could have possibly been, she both shared and combated his views enough to keep him equal parts allied and on his toes in her presence. She created more conflict than she solved, and unintentionally or not, that kept Plutarch intrigued. Intrigued enough to now, without her, begin feeling a palpable sense of boredom.

A couple weeks…

It was about time he payed his respects.

Heavensbee smoothed out the front of his coat as he entered the building and brushed back his hair, looking up. At the head of the large, dimmed room before him, resided the open casket of the now former president, Alma Coin.

Plutarch stood near the back, hands tucked in his pockets and lips pursed in that smug, Capitol way that indicated neither amusement or pride; merely a resting expression. He studied the room; the blue light the tinted windows allowed in, the smooth, concrete table the casket lay on. It was plain, clean, easy on the eyes and it was very different from the room he had grown used to during his years in the old Capitol. Coin would have liked it. The former gamemaker rocked back and forth on his feet before taking a few strides forward to the side of the coffin.

Inside she lay; eyes closed, mouth in a tight line and arms crossed over her abdomen. Unsurprisingly to Heavensbee, she still held in death the commandeering presence she had held in life. Almost instinctively, he kept his head lowered as he approached her.

After a minute or so of respectful silence, Plutarch pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and slipped it into her crossed hands. He folded his own in reverence and rested them against his stomach. _Such a solemn inauguration…_ The man shook his head, managing a humorless smile. He waited a second before brushing his hand gently over her hair and leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

_But I suppose you’d never been much for extravagance._

Heavensbee’s turned away from the casket and shoved his hands back into his pockets. His usual relaxed posture became tense from the quick swell of the most generic negative emotions. It wasn’t that he would mourn her, per say. No, he had already reasoned that idea away. It wasn’t even that he would broken-heartedly miss her. The two hardly had a close enough relationship or shared secrets or any components that would permit a soppy casket-side confession. But Coin’s absence did bring about a few feelings of unease the former gamemaker would find himself much better without.

Lacking. It was a sense of lacking. A disruption in the big chess game they had been playing that, despite being completely expected, still created discomfort Plutarch hoped would subside as days went on.

He stood at the door and his gaze swept over Coin one last time as he began to mentally peruse the letter’s content in his head. He had done so, as well, days prior, making up for the audience it would lack. That was the problem with small gestures of kindness. No one would ever privy the final product.

With a curt nod to the deceased, Plutarch pushed open the door and, in his head, recited the words he had spent stringing together two nights before.

 

> “Madame President,
> 
> You won. Although you would never have thought so. I don't think that it would have mattered how many people you could have saved or how powerful you could have gotten, because someone like you cares little for quantity. But you won. Snow is dead, the citizens of Panem can finally breathe easy and the Mockingjay has left the public eye for the quiet life she’d always wanted.
> 
> What will happen now? Well, I’m sure you can guess from wherever you are. Everyone’s become neighborly with each other. Their interactions reek of the niceties that go along with trying to pretend they weren’t at each other’s throats a week ago. Another autocrat will arise soon enough and there will be new cause to fight for, but until then you’re not missing much. You were always fared much too well in strife to be fond of a tepid period like this one; I’m certain even with the temporary thrill of success, it would bore you.
> 
> And after that, who knows. Maybe we’ll defy every civilization before us and plateau on this tranquil spell. Though, maybe that’s too unbelievable, even for a people who could rise against a man like Snow. History books will be edited to dilute everything we’d witnessed and people like him will painted like a tragic premier, corrupted by power and people like Crane as victims. With that in mind, I’m sure your portrait won’t stray too far from the truth.
> 
> Regardless of what I’m sure the victors think, I believe you began with intentions just as pure or malicious as everyone around you. You, like everyone else, suffered at the hands of Snow and you alone took the initiative to lead your district into a better era. Your wish for peace became a wish to be the peace-bringer and that was your ultimate downfall. You succumbed to the universe’s need to never destroy what it can’t replace. In this case, a leader who couldn’t stand the idea of a victory not followed by control.
> 
> So, I suppose this is goodbye for now. I’ll fall back into my place, and you’ll take yours wherever people like us go next.
> 
> I’m sure I’ll see you again.
> 
> Regards,
> 
> _Mr. Plutarch Heavensbee_ ”


End file.
